


Vision Quest

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A talk between Debi and Paul leads to a revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vision Quest

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #16 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Do the visions always come true?"_

 

Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse worked steadily, hooking bales of hay and swinging them into a rectangular stack five bales high in the corner of the barn.  Even in the cool fall morning air, the exercise made him sweat and he paused long enough to blot his forehead with the cuff of his flannel shirt.  Turning for the next bale, he found Debi McCullough seated on it, a pensive frown on her face.

"Good morning," he said, wondering what troubled her.

"Hi."

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head, blonde ponytail waving behind her like a pup's tail.

"You're awfully serious for so early in the morning."  After two years he could read the girl's moods as easily as a situation report, and this look spelled "school."

A brief grin lifted the seriousness, but it returned in a flash.  "Sort of…"

Laying the hooks aside, he sat down next to her.  "So, what's up?"

He watched her carefully while Debi fidgeted, rubbing her sneakers in the loose hay, burying them to the laces.  She was stalling, trying to decide if she wanted to explain.  As a high school freshman, she wanted to work through the problem on her own to prove that she really was growing up, but she'd also obviously decided that she couldn't.

"Too much homework?" he asked, hoping it would give her an opening.

A headshake.

"Are you missing an actual school with friends your own age?" he questioned. That had been her most common complaint at the beginning of the school year.  And, he had to admit, it wasn't easy being educated at home – even if she did have daily contact with teachers and other students over the computer.

"Yeah, but that's not it."

He reached up and squeezed the back of her neck.  "Deb, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"It's my culture class," she hedged.

 _Okay, that's a good first step…_  "Oh?"

"We have to pick a culture that's not our own and have an 'authentic' experience."

He blinked.  _Whatever happened to reading, writing, and new math?_   "What does that mean?"

"I have to pick a culture different from mine, like the African-American community…" she explained with a grin, adding cautiously, "…or the Native American community."

"You know there isn't just one of either of those."

"I know.  I can pick a particular tribe or community."

"And the 'authentic experience' part?"

"I have to actually _do_ something that's part of the culture I choose.  You know, like learn a dance, or do some art or something."

"And?"

She stood and walked to the nearly completed stack of hay bales the soldier had been building.  She kicked one of the bottom bales, wiggling her toe into the hay.  "I'm stuck out here.  I can't _do_ anything or _go_ anywhere.  It's like I'm a prisoner or something."

Paul stood, resting his hands on his hips.  "I see."  He walked over to join her, and looking down into the truculent blue eyes, asked, "And what did you decide you wanted to do that you can't do here?"

She looked down at her feet.  "I don't know.  I can't decide.  Since I have to pick something I can do here…"

He fought the smile off his face.  She wasn't really feeling trapped, just at a loss.  "Well, there are a lot of authentic Native American experiences you can try right here."

She looked up again, the first twinkle of excitement in her eyes.  "Like what?"

Paul shrugged.  "You've been reading, what do you think?"

Debi chewed her lower lip for a moment, then ventured, "Like a sweat ceremony?"

He nodded.  "But you've already done that."

"I know, but it's—"

He reached out and ruffled her bangs.  "I'm sure you can come up with something you haven't tried.  Use my library if you need to."

"Okay," she grouched, kicking the bale again.

"You go work on that, young lady, and I'll get this hay finished, then we'll talk."

"'Kay," she agreed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Coffee in hand, sitting in front of the snapping fireplace, one French door open to allow in a rain-purified breeze, Ironhorse felt relaxed.  His muscles glowed comfortably with the after-effects of the morning's work and he was pleasantly full from a late lunch.

The soft pad of sock-clad feet announced Debi's arrival.  "Colonel?"

"Yes?"

She entered through the hallway, carrying a slice of pie and a glass of milk.  "I think I know what I want to do," she said, sitting down so she could rest the plate on the brick hearth.  The milk went against the wall so it didn't get too warm.

"Oh?" he asked, eying the pastry.  "Isn't that going to spoil your supper?"

She shook her head, taking a large bite of the fresh apple pie and a swig of the milk.

"So, what's it going to be?"

She took another sip of milk before she said softly, "I want to do a vision quest."

Paul's eyes rounded in surprise.

"Did you do one?"

He nodded slowly.  "Yes, I did…"

"I've been reading, like you told me to.  It's usually talked about in relation to the Plains tribes, but your grandfather was Blackfoot, right?"

The colonel nodded again.

"Can I do that?"

He leaned back against his chair, the details racing through his mind.  "I suppose you could do it here on the property…  But it's not easy," he warned.  "You have to prepare and spend three days and three nights alone, with no food and just a little water."

She considered for a moment, then said matter-of-factly, "I can do it."

He studied her face, looking for signs of uncertainty, but found none.  "Okay," he agreed.  "If that's what you want to do, I'll help you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Dressed in their bathing suits, Paul and Debi sat in the small sweat lodge the colonel had built on the Cottage property.  Steam rose from water-sprinkled hot rocks and Ironhorse added cedar chips and dried sweet-grass, the pungent smells rapidly filling the small space.

"We all dream," he said quietly.  "Dreams are a part of the lived world of everyday existence and perception, but dreams are also a part of our individual and collective history.  The boundaries between the past and the present merge and interact through dreaming.  Dreams give us new awareness and insights."

"And I'm suppose to dream during my vision quest?" she asked.

"Sort of," Paul said with a small crooked smile.  "Dreaming is a kind of… personal empowerment.  A connection to the past.  History, the ancestors.  Who we are.  And you can do it while you're awake."

"How?"

He struggled, trying to find the words that she could understand.  "The vision, the dream, is… an encounter with your own medicine and the spirit world.  The dream is a gift, and it brings… knowledge.  It changes you, shapes your thoughts."

"Harrison says yoga does that, too."

Paul nodded.  "He's right.  But the vision quest is more than a technique, it's an acknowledgement that the world-as-dreamed and the world-as-lived are the same."

"But how can that be?" she asked, wiping the sweat off her face with a damp towel.  "I mean, it's really different.  When I sleep, I dream, and it's not like now."

"I don't know if I can explain it," Ironhorse admitted.  "But for my grandfather's people, dreams were the most important source of knowledge and power.  Dreaming transformed the everyday awareness we have when we're awake so we could see with a different kind of vision and understanding."

She frowned.  "I don't understand."

"Dreaming was a way to transform the everyday world into something bigger… something more connected to the past, our ancestors, the stories of our people…"  He could see she still wasn't grasping his point.  "Remember the story of Grandmother Weaver?"

"Yeah."

"It's like we all live on a giant, invisible spider's web.  We can only see a few strands as we live our lives every day.  But when we dream, we can float up above the web and see all the strands and how they're connected."

"Cool," Debi breathed, her eyes bright with excitement.  "So dreaming is like getting a bigger map to see our lives."

"That's one way to look at it, yes.  During your vision quest the separation between waking and dreaming breaks down, and you float above the everyday stuff and see something new."

"Is that why I have to fast?" she asked.  "Harrison said that fasting makes altered states of consciousness easier."

Ironhorse nodded.  "Close enough.  The fasting and this sweat is how you prepare yourself to welcome the dream.  The dream is a form of knowledge… a gift from the spirits.  Your vision will show you something that you'll have to interpret."

"What if I don't have a vision?"

"Then the time wasn't right and you can try again later.  But in either case you will have had an 'authentic experience' to write about.  But remember, any object, place, animal, person, element in the real world might be the means through which the dream speaks to you."

"You mean like if I see an animal, or find a shell?"

"Exactly."

"This is a lot harder than I thought it'd be," Debi admitted.

"We can always call it off."

"No," she said quickly.  "I want to try."

Ironhorse watched as Debi shrugged on her backpack.  In the large russet-colored tot was a gallon of water, a two-way radio, spare batteries, and two space blankets.  A sleeping bag was tied to the bottom of the bag.  Not much, but all that she'd need.

He waited as she adjusted the straps, then handed her a small blond-leather pouch tied to a thong.  "Wear this," he instructed.  "It should help."

She nodded and slipped the thong over her head.  The bag bounced just above her heart.

"Now, you can go anywhere on the property you want to.  The Omegans will still be out on their patrols, but they won't disturb you and you can't talk to them.  If you get into trouble use the radio."

"Okay," she said.

"Stay in the same spot until the vision comes or until the morning of the day after the day after tomorrow."

"Three whole days and nights?" she asked, her resolve wavering slightly.  "That's a long time."

He nodded.

"Can't I take a book?"

"No, Debi.  You have to find a place, then sit and think about the vision quest.  Ask the spirits to help you and watch to see what visions they send to teach you."

She sighed, working up the courage to actually leave the patio.  Nearby, her mother watched, looking equally uncertain about the adventure.

"Good luck," Paul said, snaking an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

"Thanks," she replied, forcing herself to take the first steps toward the pond.  "See you soon, Mom."

"Bye, Chicken," Suzanne said, giving her daughter an encouraging smile.

Together Paul and Suzanne watched until Debi was out of sight.

"She'll be fine," Ironhorse reassured.

"I know," Suzanne said.  "But I still worry.  It's my job."

The colonel chuckled.  "Funny, I thought that was my job."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It took her nearly three hours, but Debi finally settled into a small natural hollow between two large trees.  After checking to make sure that no ants also shared the spot, she spread out her sleeping bag and sat down.  About fifty yards away she could see the tide breaking against the beach.  The sound of the waves reached her a second later than the curl of the water against the beach.

Seagulls called in the distance, and above her finches chirped as they hopped from branch to branch.  The leaves were yellow and the autumn breeze occasionally knocked them free, sending them spiraling to the ground around her.

Looking down the small rise toward the beach, she felt very much alone, even though she knew her mother and the others were only a few minutes away.  With nothing else to do, she opened the backpack and took out the gallon of water, setting it next to one of the tree trunks.  The colonel had warned her to ration the water, drinking a few swallows every few hours.

The space blankets came out next.  They'd make good pillows until she needed them at night.  She left the radio and the batteries in the backpack, setting that next to the other tree trunk.  Her campsite organized, Debi stared out at the Pacific, wondering if the spirits would really come to her.  She was just a white girl…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Debi woke with a start.  She'd tried to stay awake like the colonel had instructed, but sometimes she fell asleep despite her best efforts.  It was late, the stars out in a shower of lights above her.  She wished she had a watch, but that had been left behind.  In the morning she'd have to head back.

Staring up at the stars she silently pleaded for her vision.  An owl hooted in the darkness, the sound echoing above the tide that hissed along the beach.  With a heavy sigh, she forced herself to stare at the stars.  Before long the points of light began to move, drawing together, then parting, creating fantastic images in the sky. Debi gasped and watched, both horrified and enchanted by what she saw.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Paul paced across the living room, pausing at the fireplace and checking his watch.  0830.  _Where is she?_

He fought back the unrest that nibbled at his thoughts.  Debi was fine.  Omega had kept regular tabs on her over the entire three days.  At 0600 he'd received word that she was packing up and heading back to the Cottage.

 _But that was two and a half hours ago_ , he thought.  _Where is she?_

Turning, he decided to go do a little recon of his own.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Debi sat alone in the barn, perched on one of the bales of hay.  Her backpack and sleeping bag rested close by.  Paul approached casually, not wanting to pry.

She gave him a brief welcoming smile.

"So, how'd it go?" he asked

"Okay."

"Find what you wanted?"

"Found something," she admitted, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Ready to rejoin the rest of the human race?"

"I guess so."  She stood and hefted her backpack.  "Can I ask you a question?"

He nodded.

"What did you see when you went on your vision quest?"

A lopsided grin lifted the colonel's lips.  "I don't know if I can really explain.  It was a long time ago, and it wasn't something I really saw with my eyes."

"But you had a vision?"

"Yes," he admitted, walking her back toward the house.  "Or I guess you could say I came back with a knowing."

"A knowing?"

"A sense that I knew where my life was headed."  He reached out and took the backpack and slipped it over one of his right shoulder.  "I knew I was going to be a soldier, a warrior."

"Is that why you went to West Point?"

Another nod.  "I thought that would be the best place to go to become a soldier."

"Was it?"

Ironhorse shrugged and chuckled.  "I don't honestly know, Debi.  It's the path I chose.  I don't know if another path would've been better or worse."

"Do the visions always come true?"

He guessed she wasn't happy with whatever it was she'd seen or experienced, but until she shared the details he had no clear answer for her.  "I was taught that the visions will come to pass, though not always in the same way you experienced them.  Sometimes we aren't ready to interpret all the subtle details until later."

"Good, I want to make some changes in mine," she stated firmly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head.  "No.  Not yet."

"Okay," he relented.  Resting a hand on her shoulder he gave it a squeeze.  "But if you ever want to, I'm here."

"I know," she said, turning to give Paul a quick hug before taking the backpack from him and disappearing into the Cottage.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Behind the closed door of her room Debi sat down at her desk and took out her journal.  Picking a pen from the collection stuffed into a coffee cup on her desk, she wrote down as much of the vision as she could remember.  Finished, she closed the journal and put it back in her drawer.

With a sigh she leaned back.  She didn't have a lot of time.  If she wanted to change her vision she needed to get to work, now.  She stood.  Maybe the colonel could start teaching her to shoot now…


End file.
